More Than Words
by chelsie fan
Summary: Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson need to talk after paddling in the sea together, but will they get the chance?


**A/N This story is a long-delayed, very belated birthday gift for evitamockingbird. It's also my late entry for Week 3 of S8. It's a week and a half late for evitamockingbird's birthday and four days late for S8. I'm sorry. I had a heck of a time wrestling this one into submission, but here it is, finally. I hope you enjoy. Love and hugs and good health and much happiness and all the good things to evitamockingbird!**

 _Summer, 1923, evening, on a train traveling from Brighton to London*_

When the exhausted but merry group arrived at the station in Brighton to board a late train back to London, the stationmaster informed them that the lighting in the parlor car was not working. The sun was setting, and so the weary passengers would have to pass the journey in near darkness, with only some occasional light from the conductor's torch. No one seemed to mind, though; the revelers were too pleased and too tired to care whether they could see their surroundings and their companions during their travels. Most of them would fall asleep before long, anyway.

Once they'd all boarded the train and arranged themselves in seats, the others in the group were seated such that Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson were mostly obscured from sight, a circumstance that was aided by the darkness outside and the darkened state of the Pullman car. As the train made its way towards London, a little moonlight and some illumination from streetlights in the towns and villages along the route filtered in, but for the most part, the travelers could see only indistinct shadows inside the train. To pass the time, they conversed in small groups: Daisy, Ivy, and Mrs. Patmore spoke of Ivy's chance to go to America; Mr. and Mrs. Bates discussed possible improvements to their cottage; Miss Baxter and Mr. Molesley recounted their day at the seaside; and the footmen and Mr. Slade talked about football.

Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes, seated next to each other, had spoken of mundane matters for a short time at the start of the trip, but as the noise and activity surrounding them lessened, they'd lapsed into silence. Mrs. Hughes's thoughts and feelings were turbulent. She'd been overjoyed earlier when she and Mr. Carson had held hands while wading in the surf. She'd offered him her hand – "to steady him," she'd said, though it would have been obvious to anyone that a woman of her size could do little to "steady" a man of his size if he _did_ stumble. It had been a bold move on her part, but she had felt brave. The man she loved had been standing there, barefoot, in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, with his trousers rolled up and his hair being ruffled by the breeze. He'd looked adorably unkempt, more than a trifle fearful, and endearingly vulnerable. The image of the man before her then had hardly resembled that of the stern, starched, formal butler whom she was so accustomed to seeing. She'd found him so enchanting that she couldn't help being so forward; she'd been irresistibly drawn to him in that instant. She'd desperately wanted to throw her arms around him, but since that action would have been wholly inadvisable, she'd settled for something much more docile: simply offering her hand. She truly hadn't known what reaction to expect from him, but when he took her proffered hand, she could scarcely contain her joy. Hours later, she still felt that joy. But since they hadn't spoken of the incident, she was uncertain of what it meant and how he felt. Her happiness was mixed with a tinge of fear and insecurity.

As the train sped forward, Mr. Carson was similarly agitated. After the events of the day, he longed to talk with Mrs. Hughes. He'd been silent while they paddled in the sea. He'd been so dazed that he hadn't known what to say. He _could have_ spoken freely to her during that time … _if_ he'd been able to find the right words (they'd been far enough away from others that no one would have overheard), but he'd been so affected that he hadn't been able even to form a coherent _thought_. And he certainly hadn't been able to _verbalize_ anything he'd been feeling. The woman he loved had been walking next to him, holding his hand, and looking more beautiful than he'd ever seen her. The sight of the woman at the seaside – wearing a pretty hat and a soft-looking, light-colored blouse and skirt, with her ankles and feet temptingly exposed – couldn't have been more different from that of the buttoned-up housekeeper whom he was accustomed to seeing in her dark, stark dresses. Her exceptional beauty and the touch of her hand had left him incapable of thinking clearly. He couldn't have explained himself, even _to_ himself, and he hadn't been willing to risk some inelegant, ineloquent declaration. She deserved more. But in the hours since that time at the sea, he'd had a chance to collect himself. Mrs. Hughes had been brave enough to make the first overture. It was now his duty, as well as his desire, to carry things further. He'd made up his mind, and now he was positively bursting to reveal his heart to her.

"Mrs. Hughes … there's something very important that I need to tell you," Mr. Carson began as he bent closer to her. He'd spoken earnestly, quietly, barely a whisper, hoping that the ambient noise would render his words indistinguishable to the ears of everyone except Mrs. Hughes herself. Unfortunately, the train had become unexpectedly quiet around him by the time he finished his sentence. His fellow travelers seemed all at once to have stopped talking and shifting about, and the only sounds that remained were Mrs. Patmore's gentle snores and the muted clacking of the train wheels rolling along the rails. Mr. Carson realized that anything he said certainly _could be_ and likely _would be_ overheard. He couldn't possibly press on now with what he'd intended to say. Instead, he continued by telling Mrs. Hughes, still in a whisper, "On second thought, perhaps I'd better tell you later. I fear this might not be the best time."

"All right, Mr. Carson," said Mrs. Hughes, equally quietly. "But now you've got me curious, and you must promise that you _will_ tell me about this mysterious … very important … _something_ … at some point."

"I will, Mrs. Hughes. I promise. Very soon – when the time is right," he told her. "But for now, I suppose we should enjoy the peace and quiet. Things are seldom this calm for us, and when they are, it's quite a treat."

"True enough!" she chuckled softly.

The two fell silent and sat companionably for a few minutes. Then Mr. Carson had an idea. He couldn't _audibly_ tell Mrs. Hughes how he felt, but perhaps he could _show_ her with his actions. He slowly reached for Mrs. Hughes's hand. He fumbled a bit in the dark, but she sensed his motion and moved her fingers towards his. Their hands found each other and clasped together gently. Mr. Carson rested their hands on his knee and rubbed his thumb softly over the back of Mrs. Hughes's hand. Then, he brought his other hand to their two joined hands. He turned one of his palms to face upwards and then placed her hand, also palm upwards, so that it rested on top of his. With the index finger of his free hand, he delicately and deliberately outlined the shape of a heart on her open palm. When he heard her breath catch, he drew her hand to his lips and kissed the spot where he'd drawn the heart. Finally, he pulled their clasped hands to his chest and rested them over his heart.

Mrs. Hughes had been surprised by Mr. Carson's boldness, but she had now recovered enough of her senses to manage a mostly coherent thought: she should in some way respond to his unspoken but unmistakable declaration. She worked her fingers free of his grasp, slowly and carefully so that he wouldn't think she was pulling away. Since she couldn't think of anything more eloquent than his actions of a moment prior, she repeated those actions, using her finger to draw the shape of a heart on his chest, directly over his _actual_ heart. Concerned that he might not be able to tell what she'd done (there were, after all, several layers of clothing between her finger and his chest), she then bent her head to place a kiss over his heart … and was gratified to hear his happy sigh.

Mr. Carson couldn't help the tears that flooded his eyes. It was only with great difficulty that he managed to keep from sobbing aloud. His profession of love might have lacked eloquence and articulacy, but Mrs. Hughes had understood him perfectly, and further, she'd reciprocated his gesture, assuring him that she returned his affections. He wished that they were alone or at least able to speak freely. He so badly wanted to say the words and to hear her say them, too.

Mrs. Hughes, for her part, also was moved to tears. Mr. Carson hadn't said a word to her, yet he'd said with his actions everything that mattered – in fact, the _only_ thing that mattered.

He reached his hand to her cheek and caressed her skin with his fingers and thumb. He knew it might not be the ideal time, but he wanted … _needed_ … to kiss her. Moving slowly, he brought his face closer to hers and nuzzled her cheek with his nose, drawing gradually closer to her mouth. When he was certain she could feel his breath on her lips, he stopped moving, giving her a chance to withdraw. But she did not withdraw. Instead, she moved even closer, signaling to him that she wanted this kiss as much as he did.

When he pressed his lips to hers, softly and sweetly, she wanted to cry out in pleasure. While kissing him covertly in the darkness was utter bliss, it was exquisite torture to remain silent while doing so. She could hardly keep herself from panting, whimpering, and sighing. She was certain that despite her best efforts, she must have emitted small sounds of delight. She only hoped no one else heard.

It had been a colossally bad idea for him to think that he could kiss her without alerting others to their actions. He wondered how he could ever have thought that he might quietly contain his happiness. But when her soft, warm lips were moving against his, and when her nimble, delicate fingers were stroking his neck, he couldn't bring himself to regret his foolishness. He turned his body more fully towards her, took her in his arms, and pulled her tightly against him. While they were kissing, he tried to hold his breath. After a time, however, he reluctantly separated his lips from hers from hers so that he could breathe again, and he rested his forehead against hers. He had tremendous difficulty in resisting his impulse to take great, loud, heaving breaths, but he forced himself to breathe in short, shallow, quiet spurts until he was able to resume normal respiration. She was similarly affected, and it took some time for both of them to calm.

Once the passion of the moment had eased somewhat, Mr. Carson slid his arm around Mrs. Hughes's shoulders, and she rested her head against his chest. She buried her face in his neck, and he rested his chin atop her head. They sat happily thus until the train neared Victoria Station.

When lights of the city flooded into the train car, the passengers began to talk more and to shuffle about. The train slowed as it approached its destination, and the two lovers drew apart. They could now see one another clearly; each wore a brilliant smile, caused by and directed towards the other.

The train stopped, and the conductor came through the coach with his torch. There was now a fair bit of light coming through the windows from the station outside, but the conductor shone his light in the shadowed areas to aid passengers in gathering their belongings. People stood and began to disembark.

Taking advantage of the distractions of the noise and activity, Mr. Carson seized his opportunity. He leaned over to Mrs. Hughes and whispered urgently in her ear, his words gushing forth unchecked. "Mrs. Hughes, I realize this may not be the best time or place, but I find I cannot wait another instant. I love you more than words can say. You make me happier than I've any right to be. I want to be with you always, to spend my life with you, to live as closely as two people can. Say you'll marry me – _please_!"

Mrs. Hughes was overcome and could not gather herself quickly enough to answer before Mrs. Patmore advanced on her and Mr. Carson.

"There you are," said the cook, addressing them both. "Mr. Carson, would you mind lending a hand with this hamper, just until we get down onto the platform and I can find one of the lads to carry it? They all seem to have scurried off." Not waiting for an answer, she thrust a wicker basket into the butler's hands. "And Mrs. Hughes, will you hold my bag while I fix my hat? I think it's gone askew, and I'm about to lose it." And she handed her traveling satchel to the housekeeper.

Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes looked at each other helplessly. Their friend eyed them oddly, but she said nothing. Mrs. Patmore adjusted and re-pinned her hat and then took her bag back from Mrs. Hughes. The three senior staff members descended the stairs and alighted on the platform, where they joined the others in their group.

Mrs. Hughes knew there was no hope that she and Mr. Carson would have the chance to be alone and to continue their all-important conversation anytime soon, but she knew she needed … _wanted_ … to respond to his earlier declaration. Despite her efforts to smile at him encouragingly, he looked nervous and even frightened. Fortunately, she thought of a way to reassure him. If she chose her words carefully, she might be able to tell him everything she wanted to say without allowing anyone else to guess her meaning.

As the group made its way through the station, Mrs. Hughes said to Mr. Carson, "Oh, Mr. Carson … Do you remember the question we were discussing earlier? Well, you should know that I feel the same, that agree with you – _wholeheartedly_. As it happens, I feel as strongly about the matter as you do. I think what you proposed is an excellent idea, and I'll be very happy to do exactly as you've suggested."

Mr. Carson was silent for a beat while he absorbed her meaning. "Well, then, Mrs. Hughes," Mr. Carson responded, his eyes moist and his voice shaky, "it seems it's all settled. And I can't tell you how happy I am to hear it. I'm so pleased we're in agreement."

"So am I, Mr. Carson, and I look forward to discussing the topic further, just as soon as we're able."

"I should like that very much, Mrs. Hughes."

The two beamed soppily at each other and spoke fondly, and it was fortunate that their companions were paying little attention to them. The housekeeper and butler walked back to Grantham House, surrounded by their coworkers and past dozens of others on the streets, but neither spared a word, a glance, or a thought for anyone but the other. And when they returned to Grantham House and sequestered themselves in the privacy of the butler's pantry, they did indeed have a great deal to discuss.

 **A/N *There was, in fact, a Pullman train that ran between Victoria Station and Brighton in 1923. It was called the** _ **Southern Belle**_ **. (Later, it became the** _ **Brighton Belle**_ **). The trip took about an hour one way, and it cost … you guessed it: 12 shillings for a return ticket. (See my tumblr page for pictures.) This particular train was quite luxurious, and it was pretty pricey, so her ladyship was very generous when she footed the bill for the trip. If my understanding is correct, a Pullman coach was much different from the compartment-style trains we've seen on the show. In contrast to a train with many small compartments that seat only a few people each, Pullman coaches were the type that had one long aisle running down the length of the car (parallel to the tracks and the direction of travel) with many seats along both sides, against the windows. Lounge cars and parlor cars were apportioned such that people could sit comfortably and socialize. All this information comes from sketchy internet research, so if someone else knows more than I do about this topic and I'm wrong, then please let me know.**

 **Evitamockingbird, I hope you liked your gift. I'm sorry it wasn't ready on time.**

 **Thanks for reading, everyone! I would love to know your thoughts if you can spare a few minutes to leave a review.**


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